Chapter 250: The Flight from Bald Mountain

“Ahh!”

At the summit of Bald Mountain, beneath the flourishing golden oak, a furious howl suddenly rang out. In the next instant, agitated magic swept across the hills like a storm, and the mountain shook. Countless beasts and birds hidden in the grass and brush fled in panic.

The Witchers fled faster still. Once they had poled their raft away from the river below the mountain, they mounted up and rode east at a dead gallop.

The horses’ hides had also been smeared with the Heart of the Tree’s blood, leaving blotches of brown and gray across them like camouflage, though under the high sun the blood had already dried to a thin faded layer.

There was no telling how much of its effect remained.

For the moment, the Witchers’ worry did not come to pass.

By noon they had safely reached the plains along Velen’s border, where the Orin brothers had long since been waiting. Flavius was with them, mounted on a tall horse, the boy Karl cradled in his arms.

The poor child had plainly gone through something after being taken by the three sisters, and eaten God knew what. He was curled up into himself, listless and pale, looking as though he had just survived a grave illness.

“Has everything on Bald Mountain been dealt with, Letho?” Flavius stroked Karl’s head, his voice low and heavy with worry. Though the boy had been rescued, the grisly and hideous faces of the old hags still lingered in his mind like an inescapable shadow.

He had a bad feeling. It was the sort of instinct a Witcher honed between life and death.

At the question, Letho drew a golden acorn from his ring and lightly tossed it in his palm. “We got what we came for, but things didn’t quite go as planned...” He sighed. “This time, we’ve offended the old hags for good. It will not be easy to set foot in Velen again.”

“What do you mean?” Everyone present felt their hearts jolt.

“You’ll have to ask the kid for the details...” There was no small amount of reproach in Letho’s tone. “We only meant to steal a few acorns. Instead, he swept up every last century-old acorn the tree had and stole them all. That was the fruit of work the old hags had spent generations tending. They will never let this go.”

“But now is not the time for debate. We keep running north and put as much distance as we can between ourselves and this cursed land. We aim to reach the La Valette Barony within three days.”

At the side, Roy tightened the reins, the Griffin greaves on his shins brushing lightly against Vyrt’s belly. His eyes swept over his companions. “I’ll explain once we’re somewhere safe...”

So they pressed on, leaving the land of Velen behind them.

Yet they had not gone far when they heard harsh cawing behind them.

Without any warning, hundreds of crows had appeared in the sky, massed together like a black cloud, relentlessly pursuing them.

No horse could outrun a bird.

The flock quickly engulfed them, shrieking in a maddening clamor, striking at the Witchers and their mounts with claw and beak.

The Witchers could still fend for themselves with Quen and Igni, but the horses were defenseless. Their vulnerable eyes and ears were pecked at savagely, and with wild shrieks they bucked and flung themselves about.